Curious Number Four
by Mercia Dragonslayer
Summary: The TARDIS throws the Doctor to Privet Drive, where the Doctor discovers something curious about that Number Four.
1. Chapter 1

Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, was an average, _normal_, household, in a normal, average neighborhood. No one in the house appeared to be anything but ordinary, or do anything but ordinary things. Its inhabitants appeared to be three normal, average, overweight citizens, and a fourth skinny child whom nobody knew much of.

It was to this house that the TARDIS suddenly heaved out of the Vortex, and landed on the corner just down the street. The Doctor was thrown off his feet and into the nearest wall. "Oi! You could've given some warning!" he snapped to the machine. But he patted the wall fondly before pulling on a long, brown trench coat and exiting.

Though it appeared to be a lovely spring afternoon, there were no children playing outside in the streets, save for one skinny boy outside House Number Four, and he disappeared inside the house a moment later.

The Doctor shoved his hands in his pockets and meandered down the street, whistling. Obviously the TARDIS thought he should be here, and he might as well investigate a few things while he was at it. The whole block seemed boring-inexplicably boring, in fact-but, well, things were not always what they seemed. This notion was surmised by the fact that once the Doctor reached house Number Two, he found that he could go no further.

He tried running (honestly, would he never learn?). He tried sidling. He tried crawling, licking, sniffing, sonicing, kicking, punching, and in general trying to get past the invisible wall blocking his path.

Off-handedly, he wondered whether this was the reason the TARDIS brought him here.

The solution to the never-moving wall became clear when the TARDIS made a funny little humming noise in his head, almost like saying 'I told you so.'

"You didn't tell me _anything_," he admonished when he was back inside the control room. "Now, let's see if we can make a nice little space hop. Wait-" He peered at the screen as a large blue police box materialized down the street. "Brilliant. Let's go to a few seconds ago. Allons-y!" He threw a lever and pounded the console with a rubber mallet.

Thirty seconds ago-relative time, of course-the TARDIS landed on the _other_ street corner. The Doctor strode out the doors and made his way back down the street, unhindered.

Until he ran into another barrier just in front of Number Six.

He didn't even attempt to go through it again and spun back to the TARDIS. Number Four-the boy-it _had_ to be of importance.

He made a little hop to London to check the directory in the registar's office, to see who lived in Number Four, and it never occurred to him that he might be a few years late, on accident.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I don't know what in the world a Registrar Office is, but I'm pretending that it exists and it's like an in-person telephone book, to look up anyone who lives in England, even if they're "unlisted." Bear with me here, okay? I'm also pretending that there's a wizard who works at this Office. I'm pretty sure such a thing doesn't exist. But it does because I need it to for this story. :P_

_Disclaimer: I don't pretend to own anything written by our lovely J.. Her works are amazing and I would never dare claim to own them, or the characters. I also do not own the Doctor, the TARDIS, or anything like that. That all belongs to the BBC._

_Warnings: PG-13, for language, and there may be violence later. Not sure._

_I also apologize for any OOCness on the part of the Harry Potter fandom. I've only read entirely through the books once, though I read sections of them multiple times. I have, however, read an egregious amount of fanfiction. *cough*_

"_Sirius Black?_ Escaped from Azkaban?" Cornelius Fudge gulped down a look of horror. "But that can't be! No one has ever escaped from Azkaban!"

The little pointy-nosed wizard in front of him didn't appear to believe the news any more than anyone else did, but he still held up his chin with dignity as he read off of his clipboard. "Minister Fudge, that is the truth. Sirius Black is nowhere to be found and the Dementors did not sense his leaving."

Cornelius Fudge simply did not know what to say. Obviously the man-Sirius Black, of course, not the wizard in front of him-was completely mad. And killing thirteen people with one curse? Obviously a very powerful wizard. He had to be out to seek revenge for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. No one who was sane and good could possibly have laughed after murdering all those people, after all. By the time Fudge found his voice again, two owls had appeared out of nowhere, both pecking his arm. "What?" he snapped, grabbing the first letter.

_Minister Cornelius Fudge,_

_I presume that you have been informed of the escape of one Sirius Black from Azkaban. I recommend putting a notice in the Muggle papers to warn them that he should be considered armed and dangerous, though I highly doubt that he has found a wand by now. The Daily Prophet has put up a notice, and there are posters in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, and spreading rapidly._

_My main point of concern is the boy, Harry Potter. I believe that Black will attempt to finish what he started twelve years ago by killing Harry._

_Albus Dumbledore._

"Merlin's beard! Of course he's after Potter!" Cornelius Fudge tugged at his chin, completely ignoring the boggling expression of the dutiful little messenger wizard. If Black found Potter, who knew what would happen. Good lord, Voldemort might actually come back.

A persistent peckering at his left elbow startled him out of his reverie, and Fudge snatched the other letter. It was from Willin Bufflenot, the only wizard representative at the Muggle Registrar Office. Fudge considered such a position a necessary evil, in case anyone came inquiring about who lived in such-and-such a house with magic in it.

_Minister,_

_I don't know if you've heard or not, but Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban._

Fudge stopped reading and scowled. "Why does everyone want to know if I've heard, when it's obvious that I ruddy well have?" He shook his head and returned to the letter.

_In addition to this major development, I also have a minor problem here at the Office. There is a wizard-well, I presume it's a wizard, anyway-household up in Little Whinging. A man who has not disclosed his name dropped by earlier-he's still here, by the way-and wanted to know who lived at that house. Apparently, he had some sort of mishap there earlier. He's obviously a Muggle, though a very strange one at that, and I don't know whether to Confundus or Obliviate, and frankly, he's driving us all nuts. I would appreciate it if you came down here and dealt with it._

_Sincerely, Willin Bufflenot._

His head felt like it was going to explode. The wizard in front of him obviously wanted him to do something about Black. Albus Dumbledore wanted him to do something about Harry. Willin Bufflenot wanted him to go down to Muggle London and deal with a random Muggle. As if today couldn't get any worse.

Fudge yanked out a quill and a piece of parchment and scribbled out a note. "Here," he said, shoving it into the little wizard's hands, "Take that to Kingsley. He'll know what to do with it." To Albus Dumbledore, he wrote out a polite little ditty saying that everything was all right and he thought that leaving Harry at the Dursley's for the rest of the summer seemed like a good idea. He paused at the second note, the one from Bufflenot. Surely confunding one Muggle couldn't take that long, and judging by Bufflenot's description, the Muggle was probably still there. Muggles be damned.

He rummaged inside his desk drawers for a bag of Muggle clothing. There, there it was. The ridiculous blue trousers the Muggles called "jeans," a long-sleeved shirt that buttoned painstakingly up to his neck, and a pair of black, pinchy shoes rather similar to the ones Fudge wore on a regular basis.

He took the lift down to the entrance and ordered a Ministry car for transport. Couldn't be seen Apparating or Flooing into the Registrar's Office, after all. He got into the car and drove away.

It took much less time to get to the Office than he thought it would, all things considered. Muggle London wasn't _terribly_ bad. Fudge did dislike it. Especially the enormous building looming over him, with a large blue sign. White letters across the blue sign read, "London Registrar Office." The office hours were typed on a piece of Muggle paper and taped to the door.

Fudge reached into his pocket and made sure his wand was still there. Yes, good. Maybe things would be done and over with quickly, after all.

He marched inside the building and approached the receptionist's desk. "Willin Bufflenot," he stated clearly and concisely.

"Down the hall, turn left, third office on the right," she told him curtly, pointing to her left. "He's got someone with him right now, so you might want to wait."

"No, it's fine. He called me down here." Without another word, Cornelius Fudge spun on his heel and strode toward Bufflenot's office. His mind filled with thoughts of a tiny cubicle and thirty other people listening in, but he was pleasantly surprised to see a single name engraved on a plaque before the door. "Willin Bufflenot. Well, what do you know? Of all things." He pushed open the door without knocking.

The very first thing he noticed about the Muggle standing before Bufflenot was that he was dressed quite strangely, even for Muggles. He had on a brown, ankle-length coat, a blue pinstriped suit, and bright red shoes. His hair stood up at impossible angles and Fudge was uncomfortably reminded of someone he didn't want to think about. "Well, Bufflenot?" Fudge asked, closing the door behind him. "What seems to be the problem?"

Bufflenot merely cast him a glance of annoyance, mixed with pity and amusement.

"All right, then. Sir, what's the problem?" Fudge rubbed his chin.

The man broke out into an enormous grin. "Brilliant! Cornelius Fudge! You must be the one he rang an hour ago. Sent me into the hall, couldn't figure _that_ one out. Brilliant, though! I've heard all about you in the past hour! Fantastic!" He extended his hand, still beaming.

Fudge was also momentarily reminded of a certain Hagrid, who he did _not_ want the pleasure of meeting again. "And who might you be?"

"I'm the Doctor!"

"That's all I could get out of him," Bufflenot said apologetically.

"I see." Fudge settled down into the only other chair in the room, an uncomfortable wood-backed chair that matched the décor. "What exactly brought you here, to the Registrar Office?"

The man blinked several times. "Weeeell, it was actually a couple things. See, I was in Little Whinging a while back-it's a bit complicated, really, but there were a few odd things happening, and I was just curious to see who lived there." He ran a hand through his hair. "Friend of mine-weell, mostly a friend, she's a bit… odd, not Ood though. No, definitely not Ood. Wouldn't be surprised if she contacted them once in a while, though-"

"Excuse me," Fudge interrupted bluntly, "I have other far more important business to attend to today. Would you please get to the point?"

"Erm-" The man looked abashed. "Sorry. As I was saying, up in Little Whinging,a Number Four Privet Drive? Some strange-"

On impulse, Fudge sucked an egregious amount of air in and held his breath. Number Four, Privet Drive. Harry Potter. He resisted the urge to floo to Hogwarts on the spot, Muggle or no, and recomposed himself. "And what exactly happened?"

"Well, nothing much, just I wanted to know who lives there. See if they're important. All that. Before I move on. It's just a little thing, really, and doesn't everyone get access to these files? Honestly-" The man would have babbled on if Bufflenot hadn't interrupted.

"He's been saying that all day. I couldn't get a straight answer out of him, but I didn't want to do anything-Fudge? You all right?"

Fudge was swaying on his feet. "He's-Bufflenot, you idiot! That's where Potter lives!"

The stranger was quicker to speak than Bufflenot. "Potter? Who's that?"

"As if you don't know!" Fudge snarled, regaining control of his senses. If he let anything happen to Potter, Albus would have his head. He reached into his pocket and withdrew his wand, pointing it in the stranger's direction. "Furtim Revalus!"

The man remained exactly the same as before. "What?"

"Confundo!"

Much to Fudge's surprise, the man's fingers immediately went to his temples and he winced. "Ow! Oh, get out!"

A flash of light came from the man's eyes, and the light returned to Fudge's wand.

"That is terribly rude," the man admonished, rubbing his temples. "_So_ rude. And it hurt, too. Didn't work, though, whatever you were trying to do." He sniffed the air and licked his finger, holding it up. "What _was_ that, anyway?"

An astonished Fudge had no other response than a roar of "IMPEDIMENTIA!"

The man flew backwards into the wall-which wasn't very far-and slid down it, moaning. Fudge and Bufflenot exchanged glances, pointed their wands at the man (Bufflenot had his out by that time) and said together, "Obliviate!"

"Get out!" The man's eyes shut, tight, and he grimaced. Almost immediately, the light from the Obliviate Charm returned to Fudge's wand.

"But-but-" Fudge spluttered. He simply didn't know what to say. No one, at least in his memory, had ever cast off both the Confundus Charm or the Memory Charm. Ever. And certainly not a Muggle.

Bufflenot-Fudge was ever thankful for the peace of mind this man had in every situation-pulled the still moaning Muggle up off the floor and set him on his chair. "You," he said, pointing his wand, "have a lot of explaining to do. Who exactly are you, and what do you want?"

"I told you," the man groaned, "I'm the Doctor! Why, oh _why_, does no one ever believe me when I say that?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "That _hurt_. What was that?"

"Impediment Jinx," Bufflenot replied promptly.

Fudge had to ask. He just had to. "How did you throw off the Confundus Charm?" he demanded. "No one's ever done that!"

The Doctor-Fudge had to accept it was his name, now. The man would give no other-sighed. "I don't know what a Confundus Charm is, but I expect it's what you threw at me the first time. Terribly rude, by the way. I should report you to the Shadow Proclamation. That's considered an invasion of privacy, you know. Could get sent to Stormcage if you do that often enough."

Fudge and Bufflenot exchanged glances. Shadow Proclamation? Stormcage? What in Merlin's name did this Doctor think he was saying? "That's for the Ministry to decide," Fudge said coldly. "You're coming with us. Stupefy!"

Fortunately, the Doctor slumped over, unconscious. Fudge didn't want to think about what he'd have to do if the man threw that one off, too. "I'm apparating him to the Ministry," he told Bufflenot. "You better show up as soon as the Muggles decide you've done enough work for the day. You know what to do if anyone asks awkward questions." He linked arms with the Doctor, and muttered the incantation for Apparation.

_A/N: About Furtim Revalus. There's a spell for revealing disguises, but it wasn't mentioned specifically, so I made it up. Ha._


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: I thank my lovely reviewers, jgood27, llothcat, and diglz-tianad. Thanks! ^.^_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Doctor Who. They are property of J. and BBC respectively._

Albus Dumbledore, while frankly annoyed at Azkaban and even more annoyed with Cornelius Fudge for not doing anything about Sirius Black, was overall having a good day. The teachers were off preparing curriculum for the fall term. In the few hours since Black had broken out, Albus suspected that it would be a day or two before he actually went after Harry. Azkaban did take a toll on prisoners, after all, and despite the miraculous escape, Sirius must surely regroup himself before doing anything dangerous. Therefore, Albus did not expect to hear much from Sirius Black _or_ the Minister of Magic.

What Albus Dumbledore was _not_ expecting was for two bodies to tumble out of his chimney, closely followed by one more. "I beg your pardon? _Minister Fudge?_"

Fudge coughed up a cloud of ash and pointed to the other two men. "It's about him, Dumbledore! He knows where Harry lives!"

"What?" Albus frowned. This man looked quite suspiciously like a Muggle, and yet there was something different about him-not magical, of course, just something different. He nodded to the Auror. "Thank you. You may deposit him on that couch."

The Auror dragged the Muggle over to the couch and draped him across it. "I'll just step outside," he said, and hurried out the door.

Albus raised an eyebrow in Fudge's direction. "Are you afraid of him?" he asked, bemusedly.

Fudge's face turned a rather abrupt shade of red. "I-I-I'm nothing of the sort!" he protested. "But-Albus, the man fought off a _Confundus Charm AND a memory charm!_ I've never heard of anyone being able to do that, ever!"

"He did, did he? And he knew about Harry?" Somehow, Dumbledore was finding it very hard to believe that a mere Muggle would be able to throw off a memory charm, especially of someone from the Ministry.

"Well-" If it were possible, Fudge's face turned a shade redder and he looked as if he might explode any minute. Dumbledore resisted the urge to chuckle. "But he did know where Harry was staying. He said he saw something odd there, but he wouldn't tell us what. It was like he wanted to know who was there, so he could go back and investigate himself. Of course, that said Death Eater all over, but not even a Furtim Revalus would do anything!" Fudge sank into the nearest chair-which happened to be Albus' favorite-and put a hand to his forehead. |"I don't know what to do."

"I can see that. Did you stupefy him?"

Fudge nodded.

Albus leaned over the unconscious man and murmured the counter-curse. A moment later, the man's eyes popped open. "Ahh, so you are back among us," Albus said, settling into the only other chair in the room. He was very much wishing he hadn't let Fudge take his comfy chair.

The man sat straight up and blinked several times. "What?"

"You're in my office," Dumbledore provided. "I am Albus Dumbledore, and this is Cornelius Fudge."

"Oi!" The man seemed to recognize Fudge, and glared. "You tried to get inside my head. That's a very bad idea. You could've been killed, or gone insane. Most people do."

Albus and Fudge exchanged glances. "What do you mean?" Albus said, not sure what else to do. This man was definitely not an ordinary Muggle.

The man picked at his fingernails. "Erm. Never mind. So!" He jumped up and bounded over to the nearest bookshelf. "Oh, books! Brilliant! I love a good book. Books are good. So are bananas. Bananas are good. You wouldn't happen to have a banana, would you?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact." Dumbledore flicked his wand and a banana appeared on his desk. "There you go."

The man's eyes widened and he completely ignored the banana, instead reaching into his pocket and pulling out a long, thick, cylinder. "What_ was_ that? Some sort of retrieval system? Biomolecular? Dimensionally transcendant? Secondary time situation?" He bounded over to Dumbledore's desk and pointed the cylinder at it. The tip light up bright blue and it made little_ whizz_ing sound. "Huh. Not giving me readings." He pounded the cylinder against his open palm and held it up to his ear.

For one of the first times in his life, Albus simply did not know what to say. The man had not been astonished, or terrified, or even moderately surprised. Instead, his reaction could be compared to that of a first-year inside Zonko's. The man was simply thrilled, and Albus found it slightly disturbing. |"I hate to interrupt," Albus said, interrupting the man's rant, "But I have no idea who you are, and that is something I would like to find out in the near future."

"I'm the Doctor," the man said slowly, without missing a beat. He shook the little cylinder. "Oh, work, you stupid thing! Don't make me do what I did last time!"

Fudge had the courage to ask, "What happened last time?"

"Smashed a rubber mallet on it. Took the TARDIS three days to repair it. Could've made a new one in that time." The man crouched. "Wait, wait! I'm getting some very odd readings-"

Dumbledore frowned. "Doctor who, exactly?"

"Funny, everyone says that. It's just the Doctor." The Doctor rose and scowled. "Something odd is going on here."

"Of course there bloody well is!" Fudge exploded. "You threw off a Confundus Charm and a Memory Charm! You didn't bat an eye at Albus Dumbledore, and here you are trying to explain everything! How do you do that? HOW!"

Albus decided that it was time to step in and intervene. Fudge looked like he was going to curse the Doctor into next week, and Albus really didn't want to have to go through all the paperwork. "Why don't you sit down and explain everything?" he said kindly, completely ignoring Fudge. "Beginning with the strange incident at Privet Drive."

The Doctor looked a bit guilty. "What year is it?"

"August 2nd, 1993," Dumbledore responded promptly.

"Oooh-" The Doctor ran a hand through his hair. "It was a while ago, then. Erm, I just got around to doing something about it, I suppose. Just crossed my mind the other day, and I _had_ to know-"

Dumbledore realized that if he left this man to his own devices, he would rattle on all day and never actually get to the point. "Doctor," he said, peering at the man over his half-moon spectacles, "you had better tell me exactly what happened on Privet Drive, regardless of when it happened."

"Er-" The Doctor took a deep breath. "I ran into a wall."

Fudge jumped up excitedly. "See? I told you! Death-Eater! The wards block Death-Eaters!" He probably would have hexed the man right there, but Albus pointed his wand in Fudge's general direction, and the Minister settled down.

"Thank you." Dumbledore pocketed his wand. "If you please, Doctor, would you mind showing us your right arm?"

The Doctor blinked, then shrugged. "Of course." He slid out of his long, brow jacket and tossed it on the couch, then unbuttoned his suit jacket and took that off, too. "What're you lot looking for, anyway?" But he dutifully rolled up his sleeve.

Dumbledore heaved a sigh of relief. Definitely not a Death-Eater, then. The Doctor's arm was white and bare, and it didn't even look like he'd tried to burn off a Dark Mark, recently or otherwise. So why did the anti-Death Eater wards around Number Four prevent him from entering?

A shout came from outside Dumbledore's office, and then the password, and the same buzzing sound the Doctor's wand-like device had made. Someone darted up the stairs, and lo and behold, the Doctor appeared. "Jelly babies," he said breathlessly to the Doctor on the couch. "Make sure you give him one!"

_A/N: I think it's safe to assume that Harry Potter-wise, this story will quickly become AU. It will also become quite timey-wimey, due to the presence of the Doctor. ^.^_

_Remember, read and review! Reviews make me happy!_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Like I said at the end of the last chapter, everything Harry Potter has gone AU. Everything Doctor Who has gone timey-wimey, thus the reason for the AU. XD_

_Warnings for this chapter: Violence at the end, though I've not described it too much._

_Once again, I thank my lovely reviewers: Phantom of the Tech Booth, diglz-tianad (again :P), MaeganM.0816, and, of course, the anonymous reviewer. ^.^_

Everyone in the room-well, Fudge and Dumbledore-leaped to their feet and stared at the newcomer. The Doctor (the one sitting on the couch), for his part, was rather amused. Paradoxes were becoming his "thing", weren't they? Ever since River. "Hello," he said, grinning at his future self.

The Other Doctor threw him a piece of paper. "List of what to do next. Kind of long, didn't figure we'd remember it. Oh, and you're going to need a copy of this paper." He held up an old-fashioned newspaper with a picture of a smiling family on the front, waving.

The Doctor nearly fell off the couch.

"Dumbledore?" The Other Doctor said calmly. "Got a copy for me here?"

Dumbledore appeared completely flabbergasted, but he reached over to his desk and pulled out a wrinkled copy of a newspaper. "Here." He handed it to the Other Doctor.

"No!" the Other Doctor yelped, jumping away. "Bad, bad idea! Give it to him!" He pointed to the Doctor, who was shrugging back into his coats.

"Er, well, yeah. That's mine." The Doctor grabbed the newspaper and stared at the front page. Sure enough, the pictures on the front were _moving_. And not just randomly moving, but waving _at him._ Maybe there were psychic chips implanted inside the paper, to give the illusion of movement. He would have to ask about that later. "You _did_ include dates on this, didn't you?" he demanded of the Other Doctor, waving the list in front of his nose.

The Other Doctor blinked. "Of course! Days, months, and years. Now shoo! You'll have to-floo, is it? And floo powder?-floo back to the Ministry and find the TARDIS."

Dumbledore stirred for the first time since the Other Doctor had arrived. "Excuse me, but would you mind explaining what this is all about?"

"I think I'd better leave first," the Doctor said quickly. "Less to remember and all that. Floo powder, anyone?"

"But what about Sirius Black?" Fudge burst out. "Escaped-we've got to do something about it! He's going to-"

The Other Doctor gave Fudge a stern glare. "Hush. We'll get to that in a second, as soon as I-well, as soon as he leaves." He motioned to the Doctor and renewed his glower in Fudge's direction.

Fudge reached out with a shaking hand and passed a small vial to Dumbledore, who poured the remains into the fireplace. "Just hop in and say 'Ministry of Magic,' he said to the Doctor.

The Doctor stepped inside the fireplace, then yelped. "Drat! Dumbledore, jelly baby!" He tossed a small paper bag to a surprised Dumbledore and said, "Ministry of Magic!" as clearly and concisely as he could.

The tugging in his gut and the shower of soot that poured over him were _not_ what the Doctor wanted to open his eyes to, but his TARDIS was out here, in London, somewhere, and he had to get her to follow the list of places his Older Self wanted him to go. He brushed himself off, blew the soot out of his nose and into a tissue, and finally turned around to look at the Ministry he had apparently been dragged through while unconscious.

A small crowd of at least a dozen people were staring at him, and more than half had little sticks pointed in his direction. The Doctor raised his hands over his head. "I'm the Doctor, I'm from-Albus Dumbledore," he said.

Everyone murmured quietly amongst themselves, and one person piped up, "But Minister Fudge just floo'd to Hogwarts with you to talk to Professor Dumbledore. I thought you were knocked out."

The Doctor scratched his head. "Well, yeah. Just a little misunderstanding. Now, if you'll just let me reach in, I've got some identification-" He held one hand in the air and rummaged inside his coat pocket. A slinky, rubber band, sonic screwdriver, plastic sailboat-aha, the psychic paper. He yanked it out and showed the assembled crowd. "Department of, er, Interesting English Happenings," he explained, having caught a glimpse of the psychic paper.

"Oh, sir! Go right on ahead!" The crowd parted and the Doctor marched toward what appeared to be a lift, his list in hand.

_Halloween, 1981, London_

_July 1993, "Azkaban" (the TARDIS knows where it is, trust her)_

_August 2, 1993, Hogwarts (she'll have some trouble actually getting there, anti-apparation stuff)_

There was nothing else on the list.

When the Doctor finally managed to make his way out of the Ministry (an annoyingly difficult job, to be sure-everyone kept trying to call him Barty), he tried, very hard, to remember which part of London he'd parked the TARDIS in. Honestly, he'd been to London so many times-it would be nice if he could keep the streets straight for once. However, a fifteen-minute walk later, he arrived back at the front of the Registrar's Office, with the TARDIS sitting on the next corner.

He slipped inside and hung his coat up on the nearest support beam. The TARDIS hummed at him. "I know, I know. 'I told you so.' Don't gloat." He stopped a moment to consider things. "Although, this has been a rather interesting day." With that, he entered the coordinates into the TARDIS computer exactly as they appeared on his future list. _Halloween, 1981, London_. Vaguely, he wondered what was so important about Halloween.

The Doctor had to hit the TARDIS with a rubber mallet several times, and at one point held down three different buttons with his toes. But when the TARDIS materialized, his handy-dandy little screen read, _1981, 1 October, London, Earth._ "I'll be back, girl," he said, patting the center column fondly and throwing on his coat.

The scene he stepped out to was rather strange. Just an regular, ordinary London street. A short and rather plump man stood on one corner, glancing around nervously, with his back to the Doctor.

An abrupt movement in the corner of the Doctor's eye made him spin around, but there was nothing there-only a dog-no, that wasn't a dog. The Doctor rubbed his eyes. It was a _man_. How, exactly, that black-haired man had managed to look extraordinarily like a dog was quite the mystery, but the anger in his eyes wasn't. The Doctor wanted to reach out, to put a hand on his arm, to tell him, no, but he couldn't. His muscles were frozen right there, in front of the TARDIS, almost as if she didn't want him to do anything. Just watch.

The black-haired man approached the man on the corner, but before he opened his mouth, the plump man screamed, "You killed Lily and James! You betrayed them! Sirius Black, you-"

People on the street stopped and stared.

A long string of curses followed, from both men, and the plump man slid a stick out of his back pocket.

What happened next came so quickly that the Doctor didn't have time to process it all. The plump man with the stick screamed something indiscernible, and the whole street was engulfed in fire, and light, and smoke, and a tremendous bang. And screams. He couldn't shake the screams.

A finger plopped down not two feet away from the Doctor. A little further away, the plump man bent over and shrank, and-no, that couldn't be-turned into a rat, fleeing through the sewer.

The Doctor's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't say anything. He couldn't move. His hearts skipped two beats each.

The man left in the street-the single other living person within a twenty-foot radius, not including the Doctor-stared into space.

Then he laughed.

The sound would haunt the Doctor for the rest of his life.

_A/N: I hope I portrayed the Doctor correctly, and Sirius, as well. Poor Sir. *shudders*_

_At any rate, if you like it so far, let me know and R-E-V-I-E-W! ^.^_


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: It has come to my attention via a lovely reviewer that a few of my dates are mixed up. I realized this AFTER I posted the chapters, and I am quite sorry for that. You can explain it away by saying the TARDIS kept the real date from the Doctor, instead choosing to let him believe that he had, in fact, landed on Halloween. Paradoxes and all that. *shrug*_

_Someone else mentioned that they loved how the Doctor was NOT affected by the mind spells and charms cast on him, and indeed he shouldn't. He's got a _Time Lord_ brain, for Pete's sake. I doubt that anything less than Voldemort, or MAYBE Dumbledore, would be able to break down his defenses. Maybe Snape. I don't know. I haven't decided about Snape yet :P_

_Oh, and random fact of the day: I watched The Scene with Dumbledore and Snape, and it about broke my heart. *sniff* When I finally watch the whole movie, I will have a large box of Kleenex with me._

_I thank my reviewers! You all know who you are, I can't remember your usernames. XD_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Doctor Who. If I did, Sirius would still be around and the beginning of "The Impossible Astronaut" would not have happened._

He slid against the closed doors of the TARDIS, not thinking, not breathing, nothing. The TARDIS' concerned humming didn't reach his mind-or at least if it did, he couldn't hear it. Tears slid down his cheeks.

Twelve. Twelve people.

Twelve innocent, unsuspecting people on that street.

_And the man had the nerve to laugh_.

But he was innocent.

He had to be.

The other man-the plump one, who shouted for the world to hear that Sirius Black had betrayed their friends-

_Sirius Black_?

The name struck a cord in the Doctor's mind, and he tried to remember where he'd heard it before. Ah-Cornelius Fudge. The man had mentioned in passing something about Sirius Black escaped. So he would be caught, and thrown in prison. There was nothing else for it. If the Doctor hadn't _been_ there and seen the wand and the rat, he wouldn't have known better, either.

He slowly climbed to his feet and removed his coat. The TARDIS nuzzled comfortingly at his mind, and the Doctor wondered what he would do without her. She was always there for him, always took him to the best places, his one constant companion.

_July 1993, "Azkaban"_. He entered the coordinates and patted the console.

Thirty seconds later, he took back his feelings of sentimentality and mercilessly banged every button in reach with his hammer-the one he reserved for occasions when the TARDIS was being particularly finicky. "Come on!" he shouted. "Azkaban! I thought you knew where that was!"

She ignored his pounding and yelling, and materialized soon after. The Doctor glanced at the screen. Still 1981, but he'd landed on November 2. "Fine! Be that way!" He yanked his coat on and slammed the TARDIS doors behind him.

A bar.

He'd landed in a _bar_.

Before he could turn right around and walk back into the TARDIS, someone bumped into him. "Watch it!" the man snapped.

And in his gut, the Doctor had a feeling that this man was why he was here. "Oi, there, mate! I'm not doing anything. You look a bit tipsy there." He grasped the man's elbow.

"Let me _go_." The tone was firm and cool, but the alcohol running through the man's veins evidently left him with little strength, because the Doctor found it easy to drag him to an empty table. "Whadya want?" the man slurred.

The Doctor sighed. "You are stone-drunk, mate. You need a ride home?" He figured the man wouldn't remember the TARDIS, especially if he passed out. The man looked as if he would keel over any minute.

The man's eyes narrowed and his vision focused on the Doctor. "Well, if it isn't Barty bloody Crouch, straight out of Azkaban. You're a dead man, Barty."

_Enough_ with the Barty already! The Doctor scowled. Maybe he'd just wait to finish this until his next regeneration, when he would undoubtedly bear no resemblance to this Barty. "I'm not Barty Crouch," he said firmly. "I just look a lot like him. Everyone says that."

"You don't fool me," the man sneered.

"Look," the Doctor muttered, pulling out the psychic paper. "Driver's license. Doctor John Smith. Happy now?"

The man looked quite appalled. "Merlin, I mistook you for someone else. Ignore me." He leaned back in his chair with a rather wild look on his face. "I'm not going home."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. _This_ time, with _that_ tone, he had a feeling that the man would probably not be going anywhere. "Right. Care to share the reason for being stoned?"

"It's the little damn brats. They get on my bloody nerves, every single day," he snarled, downing the remnants of the glass in his hand.

"Teacher, huh?"

"P-chemistry." The man's face was sullen.

The Doctor blinked. Chemistry? The man didn't look like a chemistry teacher. He wore all black robe-like things, and had rather greasy black hair that probably hadn't been washed in months. The man had a perpetual sneer on his face. If he was this mean to the kids, no wonder they were so bratty. "Er-"

The man slammed his glass down onto the table and stood. "Get out," he drawled.

The Doctor had not thought it possible for an Englishman to drawl, but there he had it, and he had a feeling that if he didn't disappear in the next two minutes, the man might do something drastic. "Fine. I'm going. But-" A sneaking suspicion popped into his head.

Barty Crouch. The people in the future-Fudge and Dumbledore-thought he was Barty Crouch. This man thought he was Barty Crouch. There had to be a connection.

"Oooh!" The Doctor smacked himself in the forehead. They were all some kind of secret society, and this bloke was a part of it. If he was still around- "I've got to run now, mate, but I'll see you-see you in twelve years. Bye!" He slid back toward his TARDIS.

When he had the doors securely shut and locked, the Doctor paused at his console. This whole mess-what was he getting himself into? Paradoxes and strange occurrences galore. But something else _was_ going on. Something that he couldn't see, something that he would most likely start sometime in the future, possibly in this "Azkaban" place.

The Doctor glanced back down at his list. _July 1993, "Azkaban"._ Maybe it would work this time.

He entered the coordinates, and with a heave, the TARDIS dematerialized.

_A/N: Muahaha. Guess who? You get cookies if you guess. Though it's probably not too hard now, is it? Greasy hair? XD_

_Oh, and I saw the most ridiculous knock-knock joke ever. WELL. There are two. Both relating to the respective fandoms I am writing in._

_Knock, knock._

_Who's there?_

_You know._

_You know who?_

_AVADA KEDAVRA! HA!_

_Knock, knock._

_Who's there?_

_Doctor._

_Doctor Who?_

…

_WAIT._

_Review if you liked my knock-knock jokes! :P_


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Pleasantly surprised with the reviews! ^.^_

_PunkWolf32: *gives cookie* I'm pretending that Snape was actually teaching then. *blink* It wasn't clear to me in the books, either, but that's what I'm running with right now._

_AngelicToaster: XD Thaaank you! I did not make either of those up, though. -_-_

_Phantom: *gives cookie* ^.^ I wasn't PLANNING to have Snape come into this story very much, but it occurred to me that [SPOILERS FOR WHY HE IS WORKING FOR DUMBLEDORE] is a fair reason for the Doctor to be interested in him._

_In other news, I watched Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone today. Loved it, loved it, loved it! Draco's face was priceless at the end. Nasty little git. Hopefully, I'll be watching Chamber of Secrets tomorrow. My goal is to watch all the movies before June 10th so that I can go see the last one with my grandfather when it comes out this summer!_

_Warnings: You all know where the Doctor is headed next. You all know what resides there. You all know what happens to people who get too close to said residents. There will probably be spoilers for Doctor Who through Journey's End. If you don't want to read them, you can probably skip this chapter._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Doctor Who. Wish I did._

For the second time, the Doctor inputted the coordinates into the TARDIS. _July, 1993, Azkaban_. His older self said that the TARDIS would know where-and apparently what-it was.

But the Doctor had his suspicions. The man in the bar had said, _Barty bloody Crouch, straight from Azkaban_. Based on the surprise in the man's face, he considered the possibility that Azkaban was a prison. It did make sense, after all. Anyone out of prison could potentially be a dead man. Perhaps that was where Sirius Black had gone.

Without warning, the TARDIS lurched and spun out of control. The Doctor had no opportunity to ponder the mysteries of Azkaban after that, because the TARDIS seemed to have significant trouble landing in Azkaban. It was almost as if she were-afraid, perhaps?-of landing.

Preposterous.

They'd gone everywhere, from the end of the world to an alternate universe, and she was never _afraid_. Never.

"Eh, what's up, old girl?" He patted the console fondly. This seemed to get her mood up, and a loud hum shot through the room. Three seconds later exactly, she landed. The Doctor had a feeling that he would have to find his own way to Azkaban, even before he stepped out the door.

The stench hit him first. Seawater, with ionized electrons and rotting fish, overloaded his nostrils. The Doctor sighed. Brilliant, just brilliant. The TARDIS landed him on a boat in the middle of what couldn't have been less than a hurricane.

He pulled his coat collar up to his neck and hunched down, trying very hard not to get wet in the mad dash toward what looked like the main cabin. When he reached it-shivering cold and soaked to the skin-it swung open as his hand hovered at eye level, ready to knock.

So someone was expecting him.

Or it was an automatic door.

Somehow, the Doctor did not put much hope into the second option.

"Who in _blazes_ would be out and about right now?" a voice shouted. The Doctor squirmed. A short, annoyed-looking man came into view. "Well, come in! You're going to get soaked!"

"Er-well, I _am_ soaked," the Doctor admitted, stepping in. He reached back to pull the door in, but it swung shut on its own. Perhaps there was hope after all for that automatic door.

The man pulled a stick out of his pocket and waved it. A chair appeared out of nowhere and the man motioned for the Doctor to sit in it.

The Doctor's eyes widened. A chair. Out of nowhere.

_A chair._

_Out of nowhere._

He really had no choice but to sink into the chair. But-the _power_ required to keep something this big in stasis, while at the same time being able to conjure it with a flick of a stick? There had to be something psychic about it. Something most definitely not human.

"You look astonished, sir," the man said brightly. "Have an apparation accident?"

The Doctor nodded. Whatever that was, it sounded like a perfectly legitimate excuse.

The man patted his back and waved the stick again, but this time, a steaming cup of tea appeared. "Here you go! All done up in no time. How soon do you think it will be before you can apparate out again?"

"Uh." He sipped at the tea. "Where exactly am I?"

"My dear boy, can't you feel it?' The man's face paled a bit, and he leaned in. "We're on the way to _Azkaban_!"

Azkaban. That word, that place. The second-to-last place on the list. It had to be a prison. The place where Barty Crouch supposedly died, and the place where Sirius Black went to atone for the deaths of those people. Assuming he'd really killed them in the first place.

"Azkaban?" the Doctor said carefully.

The man stared at him. "Do you mean to say that you don't know what Azkaban is?"

The Doctor ran a hand through his hair. "Well-spent the last eighteen years as a postman in Liverpool, can't blame me, been out of the loop for a while-"

"You don't just forget about Azkaban!" the man exploded. "Just who do you think you are? Some Muggle? Some stupid, silly, muggle, who just _happened_ to be stowed away on a boat to the most dangerous prison in the wizarding world! That is impossible!" The man whipped his stick up to the Doctor's throat and growled, "Bare your right arm."

"Uh-"

"Now!"

The Doctor lost no time in peeling off his trench coat and suit jacket, rolling up his right shirt sleeve. "There. Nothing. _Honestly_. You thought I was Barty Crouch again, didn't you?" He sighed. Maybe he _would_ just return in his next regeneration. Keep things simpler.

The man glared suspiciously. "Then who are you?"

The Doctor shrugged back into his jackets and pulled out the psychic paper. "Tada!"

"Professor?" The man's eyes widened. "Professor, I am infinitely sorry!" He shoved his stick back up his sleeve and bowed. "And what brings you here to Azkaban?"

"Checking in on-on a few prisoners," the Doctor said. He didn't want to give too much away, in case this man recognized him later. That would just not do.

"Very well then, Professor. I am Filibus Bumble. Fudge sent me to check up, as well, and make sure the Dementors are in hand." Filibus twitched. "We are almost there. Do you have your patronus ready, Professor?"

The Doctor blinked. A patronus? He had no such thing ready, but maybe-he'd probably be fine without it. "I'm fine," he said, with a grim smile.

The boat gave a sickening lurch and it was all the Doctor could do to hold onto his stomach. A cold, dreadful feeling came over him, like something was trying to get inside his mind. But that couldn't be. No, it couldn't. Not again.

Filibus had his stick in his hand again, and he smiled wanly at the Doctor. "Are you coming, Professor? The dementors have been ordered to stay away while we are patrolling, but they must remain outside Azkaban, even if we run into them."

The Doctor was not liking this at all. Not one bit. His insides curled and clenched. "Erm-"

"Would you mind going first?" Filibus whispered. He waved at the door and it banged open.

"No-" _Yes, I do mind going first-_but he didn't argue the point. He pulled his coat closer to his body and stepped back out into the pouring rain and down the ramp to the little dock.

The moment his foot touched the wood, a great force slammed at his mind-and entered.

His soul was stretched like a thin nylon rope. All of his memories-his whole life-flashed before his eyes, settling on the agonizing scenes that nearly killed him. The Time War. Losing everyone he loved, his family, his friends, his home. Sarah Jane, standing before the Time Lords, ready for her memory to be wiped. Her face when she realized it _was_ him, he'd left her, betrayed her. Rose, flying into white oblivion. The daleks-those hated, feared creatures. They came back. They _always_ came back.

Martha-the hurt in her eyes, the hatred, the sorrow. The love, the love that he never wanted, couldn't have, didn't need… Donna, refusing to come with him, breaking his heart again-then being his best mate and crying, pleading, begging him to let her stay. Her mind on fire. Losing Rose again.

It wasn't until he felt cold rainwater seeping into his knees that he realized he was screaming.

_A/N: There we go. Nice cliffhanger, huh? ^.^_

_Does anyone have anything he or she would like to see in this story? Situations/characters/challenges? Not that _I_ don't have ideas-I just like to listen to my readers. :)_

_Read and review, peoples! There have been over 1,000 individual visitors to this story in the past two weeks, and I only have 21 reviews. :P Remember, reviews are cookies!_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Thanks to all my lovely reviewers! Oh, and I did neglect to say-in Chapter 5, it WAS Snape. All who were right get cookies! Actually, I think everyone who guessed got it right. But that's irrelevant._

_It has also come to my attention that the Dark Mark is on the LEFT arm, not the right! Please forgive me! XD_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Doctor Who._

"Expecto Patronum!" a voice bellowed somewhere behind him.

The terrible memories receded. He was shivering-freezing-cold, wet, tired-and broken. So completely broken. He could not face the world, not after this. Not after seeing all those things he's done to the people who love him. Never again.

"Snap out of it, Professor," the voice commanded. "You must get up. You will catch your death of cold otherwise."

He curled up in a ball. No, no, no. He would never come out, or get up. Let him die right here, right now, without another single chance to regenerate. Maybe his friends would finally be happy. Happy without him to hurt them, or leave them, or move on to someone else.

"I _thought_, Professor, that you said you were prepared to face the dementors! Eat this!"

Someone shoved something down his throat, and the aftertaste in his mouth revealed it as chocolate. Why would someone force him to eat _chocolate_? "What-" he rasped.

The voice snorted. "Professor, you should go back to the boat and wait until I come back. You are in no mood to face the dementors again."

Dementors. Tormentors of memory, he thought rather drily. And they would have a feast with him-all his memories, all his lives…

"Professor!" Something slapped his face and he groaned, opening his eyes to the pouring rain. "That's it, Professor. Come on back."

"What _was_ that?" he gasped, sitting upright and clamping a hand to his forehead. "That-"

"Dementors," the voice said apologetically, and he realized the voice belonged to Filibus. "And I did think you were prepared. I should have gone first. Sorry." Filibus patted his back and offered a hand. "Come along, now. Best get you back to the boat."

The Doctor shook his head vehemently. He was supposed to come here-to Azkaban-and he supposed it had something to do with Sirius Black. "No, I've got to go in." He accepted the hand and climbed to his feet. "Got mission from Dumbledore."

"I see." Filibus didn't look entirely convinced, but the Doctor waved off his suspicions as a result of his not being able to fight off the dementors. He supposed that would be something he'd have to learn. Perhaps he could program a new setting into his sonic screwdriver.

"Well, come along, then!" Filibus spun on his heel and strode smartly towards a large, ominous black door. He muttered something underneath his breath, and his stick glowed at one end. "Don't have time to waste!"

The Doctor followed behind Filibus, his mood definitely worse. Why on earth would he want to come here? Hadn't he caused enough paradoxes? It would be nice, for once, if he were actually a normal person living the normal way in the same timestream as everyone else.

But that would be boring.

Filibus led the way through the halls. He stopped occasionally to make a few notes, but otherwise fairly ignored the inhabitants.

It didn't take a genius, the Doctor noted, to figure out this was a prison for the criminally insane. Every single inmate clasped wildly at the bars, shrieking and wailing to be taken away from his living hell hole.

"Wait here," Filibus murmured. "I've got to run down and make a note of something on the other side, but that's where the dementors have been banished to. I don't want any more problems." He stumbled off back the way they'd come.

The Doctor sighed. And there wasn't even anything he could-wait! He frantically dug into his coat pocket and brought out the slightly mangled newspaper. Brilliant. Now he could amuse himself trying to figure out the physics behind the moving picture on the front.

"Excuse me," a calm and to-the-point voice said. "If you don't mind, I'd like to have a look at that."

"What?" The Doctor glanced up, expecting to see a guard of some sort. No, the only people close enough to him were prisoners, locked up in eternal agony in their cells. "Uh-"

One man waved, with a maniacal grin. "Hello there. Sirius Black, at your service." He cackled. "Or not."

The Doctor gaped. This, surely, could not be the Sirius Black he had seen on that London street. _That_ Sirius had lighter hair, neatly groomed, and was well-dressed in some sort of dark robes. _This_ Sirius Black looked sunken, haunted, defeated. Ragged. Awful. "What?" he managed.

"Sirius Black." The man sneered. "Don't suppose you've heard of me, have you? The only sane criminal in Azkaban." There, again, was that cackling laugh-the one that haunted the Doctor's mind. "Mind if I have your newspaper? Can't order it from here."

Without a word, the Doctor handed over the paper. He'd have to get it back, of course-he idly remembered his future self snatching it away from Albus Dumbledore-but let the man have it, for a while.

The man's face turned deadly white, and the newspaper fluttered to the floor. "Oh, _Merlin_-he's at Hogwarts," he whispered hoarsely. "_He's at Hogwarts!_"

The Doctor grabbed at the newspaper and fled. Dementors be damned-he had to get away. He had to get away from the man.

Back on the boat, even a very warm blanket and a cup of hot tea couldn't keep the Doctor from shivering. It wasn't from the cold, he knew, but from _horror_. Someone-something-was at Hogwarts. The school. He-what if the man knew? His face paled further. The man couldn't possibly know that he would be at Hogwarts in several days' time.

Couldn't possibly know.

He couldn't.

_A/N: Sorry about the short chapter. -_- I had originally expected all this information to go with the previous chapter, but I couldn't resist the cliffhanger… So._

_In the next few chapters, expect a lot of timey-wimey-ness involving Snape, Harry, the Doctor, and quite likely, Voldemort. XD_

_I thank all my lovely reviewers! Your comments have made my day! Thank you so much!_

_Remember, reviews are cookies! *showers cookies upon reviewers*_


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: I am so pleased with the way this story is coming… It's surprising me, actually. I wish my original fiction would come off this fast! XD_

_On another note (entirely unrelated to this), I'm thinking about starting up a blog of sorts to post my original fiction on, much like , expect it'll just be me. ;) The point of it would be to see what people think of MY writing. Sure, I can write the Doctor and Snape and Dumbledore with ease, but I want to know if people are drawn the same way into things I write aside from fanfiction. Really, I do. Plus, I've got to finish a novel in the next two weeks and it would be infinitely easier if I had death threats from people who want to finish it. XD So, if you'd be interested, PLEASE PM me, or drop a review here or something. Make sure you leave your username so I can contact you!_

_Mkay, expect things from here on out to get very timey-wimey. I'm considering putting dates, at least, in front of each chapter so you know where the Doctor's at. Possibilities include but are not limited to the following:_

_~Snape meets the Doctor in the wrong order. (Already have this planned :P)_

_~The Doctor tries to see Harry after Sirius escapes, but ends up in the wrong year._

_~The Doctor meets Tom Riddle. Out of order._

_~The Doctor meets Voldemort. Out of order, as usual._

_If you have any suggestions, review and let me know! ;) I think my goal with this story is to make it as timey-wimey as possible without entirely confusing my readers._

**July 20th, 1993**

"I really should be going," the Doctor said, thirty-seven times and eight pieces of chocolate later. "Honestly, I feel fine-just a bit of a shock there-"

Filibus scowled. "I should take you back to St. Mungo's, make sure you didn't catch anything. You didn't actually _touch_ him, did you?" he demanded.

The Doctor shook his head. "No. I didn't." He decided not to mention the crumpled newspaper, now safely stored away in his pocket. He still needed it to show his younger self. "Erm-I suppose I'd better be getting back now…"

The concern in the man's face made him stop for a moment. "Are you sure you can apparate without splinching yourself? Because then we'd have a problem on our hands."

"Quite sure." The Doctor sprinted out the door and back to the TARDIS, lying safely in a corner where no one could reach her. He didn't even look back as he slammed the door behind him and shrugged out of his damp coat. "Come on, you old thing. Back to Hogwarts we go."

To no surprise-the note _did_ say they'd have trouble-the TARDIS was not keen on entering Hogwarts. Every alarm went off simultaneously and the ship spun. The Doctor clung to the consol for dear life, pressing button after button and pounding his rubber mallet upon every surface he could reach. "Trouble indeed!" he shouted to no one in particular, when the "bump" that signified landing threw him all the way into the railing.

The TARDIS hummed at him, obviously displeased with the course of events.

"Yes, I know. But I'd better wite up that list." He snagged a sheet of paper from under the TARDIS console and dug a pen out of his suit jacket. He scribbled down the list, left his copy sitting on top of the zig-zag plotter, and stormed out with everything he needed tucked carefully into his pockets.

**August 2nd, 1993**

A very astonished man-the same one who had apparently helped Fudge bring him in-gasped and pointed. "You! What-what are you doing here?" he demanded.

"There's a troll down the hall!" the Doctor shouted. He dug down into his memory-saw himself staring at the door, hearing two words-he growled, "Lemon ice," to the doorway in front of him. That had to be the entrance, wasn't it? When the gargoyle didn't move, he raised his sonic screwdriver and scrambled up the rapidly appearing steps.

"Jelly babies!" he gasped, directing his words at his past self on the couch. Thank Rassilon for the short, easy-to-remember prelude to the upcoming script-reading. "Remember to give him one!"

Fudge and Dumbledore jumped to their feet, but the Other Doctor just gave him a cheeky grin. "Hello!"

The Doctor flung his little note towards the couch. "List of what to do next. Kind of long, didn't figure we'd remember it. Oh, and you're going to need a copy of this paper." He pulled out the newspaper and waved it in the air.

The Other Doctor looked as if he were going to fall off the couch.

"Dumbledore?" the Doctor said calmly, "Got a copy for me here?"

Dumbledore appeared completely flabbergasted, but he reached over to his desk and pulled out a wrinkled copy of a newspaper. "Here." He handed it to the Doctor.

"No!" he yelped, jumping away and hugging his own copy to his chest. "Bad, bad idea! Give it to him!" He waved frantically at the Other Doctor, who was shrugging back into his jackets.

"Er, well, that's mine," the Other Doctor admitted sheepishly. He stared at the newspaper for a moment, and the Doctor knew he was taking in the moving pictures. Damned things-he still hadn't figured them out. Then the Other Doctor scowled and waved the list. "You did include dates on these things, didn't you?"

The Doctor scoffed, indignant. "Of course! Days, months, and years. Now shoo! You'll have to-floo, is it? And floo powder?-floo back to the Ministry and find the TARDIS."

Dumbledore stirred and cast a dubious glance at the Doctor. "Excuse me, but would you mind explaining what this is all about?"

"I think I'd better leave first," the Other Doctor murmured all too quickly. "Less to remember and all that. Floo powder, anyone?"

"But what about Sirius Black?" Fudge burst out. "Escaped-we've got to do something about it! He's going to-"

Sirius Black. The one thing the Doctor did _not_ want to think about at any time, let alone right then. The horror of the possibility of-well, another time-traveler, at that-didn't do anything for his nerves. And there was, too, the haunting laughter, the gaping expression, the-

No. He forced himself to push the thoughts deeper into his mind and summed up his courage. He glared at Fudge. "Hush. We'll get to that in a second, as soon as I-well, as soon as he leaves." And continued to glare.

Fudge reached out with a shaking hand and passed a small vial to Dumbledore, who poured the remains into the fireplace. "Just hop in and say 'Ministry of Magic,' he said to the Doctor.

Just as tendrils of green smoke curled around the Other Doctor's feet, he yelped. "Drat! Dumbledore, jelly baby!" He tossed a small paper bag to a surprised Dumbledore and announced his destination ("Ministry of Magic!") before a spout of green, swirling flames completely consumed him.

The Doctor let out a sigh of relief. The script flowing through his head gone, he tumbled into the nearest chair and pressed a hand to his temple. He was getting too old to gallivant about like this, crossing his own timeline and confusing himself. Then he remembered the newspaper in his pocket. "Er, here. You can have this back."

Dumbledore set the bag of candy on his desk and took the newspaper, flipping through it. "Pardon me, er-well, frankly, I'm not sure what to call you…" he trailed off.

"I'm the Doctor." He waved his hand. "And yes, that's the same newspaper. It's complicated." _Very complicated_, he wanted to add, but that would draw attention to himself. No doubt Dumbledore would question him about it anyway.

Fudge took silence as the opportunity to jump up and pour his problems out. "Sirius Black, headmaster! Sirius Black has escaped! And there's something else, too! Well, you know-he's after Harry! Harry Potter!" The man looked simply hysterical.

"Sit down," Dumbledore commanded. Fudge sank into his chair. "I know all about Sirius Black and Harry Potter. Black muttered, in his sleep, every night, 'he's at Hogwarts, he's at Hogwarts.' Naturally, we assumed he meant Harry Potter."

Oh, _Rassilon_. Sirius Black… The newspaper… _He's at Hogwarts, he's at Hogwarts_. "Oh good lord," the Doctor managed. "That's my fault."

Dumbledore flicked his little stick and a cup of tea appeared in the air next to the Doctor's elbow. "Nonsense, my dear boy. You're just shaken up. Have a cuppa." He nodded to the teacup.

The Doctor snatched it up and gulped it down. But the tea didn't do anything, at least not that he could tell. His nerves still fluttered and his stomach had fairly jumped into his chest. "I hate to break it to you," he said, quietly, "but I do believe I am responsible. That, and your newspaper." He spared a glance at the paper. The front page sported a picture (moving, of course) of a happy family in Egypt.

"I do believe that you have a significant amount of explaining to do," Dumbledore said, reaching into his desk and pulling out a little candy tin. "Lemon drop?"

"Thanks." The Doctor popped one into his mouth. His sub-conscious pointed out that Dumbledore bore a striking resemblance-at least in deeds-of one of his past incarnations. He wondered if he were talking to his future self.

Fudge looked like he wanted to say something, but Dumbledore silenced him with a glare. "Now, Doctor, I'm afraid that you owe us an explanation."

"Yes, I do." He sighed. He should've known this was coming. Perhaps he should just show them the TARDIS and hop back to the past for a few moments. Showing as opposed to telling. "Long story short, I'm a time-traveler."

There was absolute silence in the room, broken only by a squeak from Fudge. "You nicked a Time Turner, didn't you?"

The Doctor blinked. Time Turner? That sounded like infinite trouble. "Er, no. I've got my own-well, time machine." That time, he could feel the stares boring into his head. He sighed. "Yes, a time machine. And a space ship, if you must know."

Dumbledore spoke, this time. "That is impossible," he said, not unkindly.

"_Honestly_. Everyone says that!" He ran a hand through his hair, making it all stand up on end-as if it weren't that way before. "It's an honest-to-goodness time machine, and I can prove it. I just had a conversation with my past self, or my future self, depending on how you look at it. It's rather confusing. And, er-" This would be harder. The chances of Dumbledore believing him were infinitesimally small, with Fudge being smaller yet.

"Yes?" Dumbledore prompted. "You were saying?"

"I let Sirius Black see that newspaper," the Doctor spilled out, all at once, apologetically. "Then he kept saying over and over, 'He's at Hogwarts.' It was a bit… disconcerting." He felt himself dreading the next part of his revelation.

But it had to be done. Someone had to know.

He took a deep breath. "And Sirius Black is innocent!" came out just as the door banged open and a tall man in black, billowing robes stormed in.

"Headmaster!" he cried.

The Doctor's jaw dropped at the same time the new stranger's did.

_A/N: I hope that last bit wasn't too confusing. The stranger came in and addressed the Headmaster at the same time the Doctor told them about Sirius Black._

_Prepare for the timey-wimey in the next chapter! Again!_


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: As you can see, I've put up the dates. Correct me if you think I'm wrong at any point. ^.^ Thanks for the reviews!_

_FORGIVE ME, MY DEAR READERS! I didn't mean for it to get so long between updates, and I greatly apologize. This chapter was giving me issues and I've been at camp all summer._

**August 2nd, 1993**

Severus Snape did not wish to visit Lucious Malfoy any more than he wanted to visit Harry Potter. If anything, _dread_ filled him at the prospect of meeting Malfoy. The only emotions he associated with Potter were annoyance and exasperation-some of the time.

The summons to this… _wonderful_ little meeting had been dropped off at his doorstep in the middle of the night two days previously. The moment the missive left Severus' hand, it incinerated itself into a crisp pile of ashes. It was a terribly good thing Severus had an excellent memory and a knack for following directions, else he might not have made it to the Malfoy Manor.

He should've known to suspect a plot when the time listed read _one o'clock in the afternoon_.

Severus pounded at the door. Thirty seconds later, a disheveled house elf opened it. "Mister Snape is expected. Follow Linty, Mister Snape."

Severus followed the elf with a familiar foreboding tugging at his gut. Lucius Malfoy could only have one thing so important on his mind, now, especially with the events of the year before in mind. That stupid, stupid diary, and that stupid, stupid Weasley girl.

"Severus Snape. How pleasant of you to join me today." Lucius Malfoy materialized out of nowhere and it took all of Severus's willpower and strongest occlumency shields not to flinch.

"A pleasure," he said carefully, lifting his chin and not _quite_ meeting Malfoy's eyes.

"I hope you had a pleasant journey. Would you care for a cup of tea?"

Severus grit his teeth, and through them managed, "I do not have time for pleasantries, Lucius. If I have not returned to Hogwarts in thirty minutes, my potions lab will not be standing." Now, that wasn't entirely true. He _did_ have a potion brewing, but it would last a good deal more than thirty minutes on its own, if he had brewed it correctly.

Lucius inclined his head to show that he understood, and fingered his cane. "Then Severus, I must say that you will be quite pleased with the news I have for you. You were, after all, one of His most loyal followers."

"What, exactly, do you mean?" Severus shoved his emotions behind his occlumency barrier, yet again. The tone of the man's voice indicated something relating to the Dark Lord-anything of that nature boded ill for all.

"I have discovered-"

Whatever Lucius might have discovered was cut off by the door slamming open and a house elf dashing in, shrieking and pounding its head into the floor. "Master Malfoy sir!"

Severus snorted.

Lucius turned aside and snarled to the house elf, "Didn't I tell you to _leave us in peace?_"

"Clearly," Severus drawled, "the house elf has disobeyed your orders for something important. Perhaps it would be prudent to-" Severus paused, and placed the greatest emphasis on his next phrase. "-_allow_ him to give his message."

The glare Lucius sent in Severus's direction might have singed something on its way.

"Speak," Lucius commanded, turning back to the elf.

The elf wrung its hands and refused to even look at Lucius, glancing instead at Severus. "Master Snape sir? There be a Master Duktor sir in the house. He is asking to speak with Master Snape sir immediately."

Duktor? Severus had never heard of a duktor in his life. Perhaps it was a name. The house-elves occasionally mixed up names, or mispronounced them. Duktor… "Oh!" he said, finally understanding. "You do, of course, mean a _doctor_." He placed extra emphasis on the proper word.

The elf nodded frantically.

"Is he from Hogwarts?" Lucius interjected.

"Master Duktor be looking very much like Master Barty Crouch sir," the elf began hesitantly, and Severus realized it had been trained not to speak of the Dark Lord's associates in the presence of guests. But Barty Crouch Jr. was dead, wasn't he?

"I will see him," Severus decided. "Take me to him." He nodded to Lucius. "I will return in a moment." With that, Severus strode out the door, robes billowing gracefully behind him. He fixed his most ferocious glare-reserved only for the most troublesome of students, including Potter-and glided into the front entryway.

There was, indeed, a man standing by the door, staring at the portrait of Abraxus Malfoy. "_Blimey_, it's like he can _think_!"

"I _can_ think," Abraxus announced, crossing his arms.

The man jumped back. "_Well_!"

Well indeed, Severus thought dryly. If this man were a wizard-which he obviously was _not_, from the way he examined the painting-then he would be a strange wizard indeed. The man turned around and Severus raised one eyebrow at his clothing. A tan trench coat over a dark blue pin-stripe suit and muggle trainers. Quite bizzare. And still more bizzare was the man's hair-

"Oh, Merlin," Severus breathed. He stared. _Barty Crouch? No. He died-Azkaban-_

"'Ello!" Barty Crouch said, cheerfully.

Severus stared.

"Cat got your tongue?" Barty rubbed the back of his neck in a very un-Barty-like gesture. "Weeeeell-did you know there's actually a species of cat that survives solely on the tongues of humans? They used to breed humans just for that purpose-"

Severus stared some more. No amount of occlumency shields could possibly help him now.

Barty _bounced_ over to Severus and shoved a scrap of paper into his not-quite-clenched fist. "Dumbly-dore wants to see you immediately," he said.

_Dumbly-dore?_ This had to be an impostor using polyjuice. There was no other explanation.

And quick as a flash, Barty-look-alike spun and walked through the doors of a large, blue box that Severus was _quite_ sure hadn't been there a moment before. In fact, his eyes kept looking away from it, not registering it. "Notice me not," he muttered, and glanced down at the crumpled note.

_Harry missing after Quidditch practice. Basilisk spotted in Forbidden Forest. -A.D._

Delivered by Barty Crouch Jr.

From the hands of Dumbledore.

Oh _damn_. Damn, damn, damn, damn! "Potter!" Severus hissed under his breath. The idiot would go and get himself killed by a Basilisk, after all he'd done to protect him-

_It could be a trap. Is probably a trap_.

_Protect him at all costs, Severus?_

_I swear allegiance to the Dark Lord..._

"Lucius!" Severus called, as he backed towards the door.

Lucius appeared in the hallway. "Severus? Is there something wrong?"

"Emergency at the school," he growled. "The Headmaster wishes to see me." With that, Severus fled and prepared himself for apparation on the run.

He apparated with a _pop_ seconds before a low wheezing sound filled Lucius' front hall.

_A/N: I promise that there will be less of a break between this chapter and the next!_


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Decided to keep this chapter in Sev's point of view to make things a bit simpler. Be warned that from here on out, the plot gets very complicated and timey-wimey… as if it weren't already! I've also taken a few liberties with an OC character. You'll see-he features very heavily in later parts of the story that I've got planned out._

_Also, I'm working on a trailer for this to post on youtube. Wish me luck!_

_Thanks to all my lovely reviewers! I love you guys :)_

Severus spat the password ("Lemon ice!") to Dumbledore's office and took the stairs two at a time, the same mantra running through his mind over and over again.

_Potter. Lily. Potter. Basilisk. Potter. Quidditch. Potter._

"Headmaster!" he cried, flinging open the door. Then he stared.

Barty. Bloody. Crouch. Bloody. Junior. There was no possible way. No _way on this earth_ that Crouch could have beaten him to the school _and_ beat him to Dumbledore's office. Therefore, this was most definitely not Barty Crouch Jr.

He stilled his heart and closed his mouth. No. This wasn't Barty Crouch. It was just some impostor on polyjuice potion. Dumbledore would sort it out in a moment. Right?

Barty-_no_, Severus told himself, _the man_-swallowed. "Er-" Then all surprise faded away and the man bounced over to Severus, draping one arm around his neck. Severus stiffened. "Blimey! I _told_ you I'd see you in twelve years, didn't I? Brilliant, little old me!" The man bounced back across the room and settled down on Dumbledore's couch.

For once in his life, Severus didn't know what to think or say. Part of him wanted-_demanded_-that he see to the emergency for which Dumbledore summoned him. Part of him wanted to legilimize the man to find his identity. And one very, very small part of him dragged up a memory of himself sitting at a bar and the same man confronting him about something. Oh, Merlin, what was going on?

He chose the easiest route.

Severus stormed to Dumbledore's desk and slammed the note onto it. "Headmaster!" he hissed. "What is the meaning of this? _Where is Potter?_"

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "Severus, is there something I should know?"

"Read it!"

Dumbledore picked up the note and out of the corner of his eye, Severus noted Fudge's presence. _Nosy blighter_, he thought. Couldn't even keep his nose out of official Hogwarts business. Unless the situation were so bad that-

"Severus-"

"_Where is he?"_

"Severus," Dumbledore began patiently, "I did not send this."

Oooh, someone was going to _pay_. With an Unforgiveable right through the eyes. Severus seethed. "Then _who_, exactly, would send it?" he managed through gritted teeth.

Fudge, who looked as if he were constipated, piped up with, "Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban!"

Oh god.

Sirius Black.

Escaped.

From Azkaban.

Where the bloody damn DEMENTORS should have kept his damn carcass in eternal torment where it belonged.

_Dead betrayed my fault prophecy damn Sirius Black damn James Potter love Lily Harry Bloody Potter survives love Lily Lily LILY!_

Severus couldn't see. Everything-the room, Dumbledore, Fudge, the man-blacked out and somewhere, he heard glass shattering.

"I think you'd better leave," Dumbledore's voice said. Stuttering, then the floo.

_Lily Lily Lily betrayed to the Dark Lord._

Another voice said, "Er-do you think you could write out that note again for me? I've got to go give it to-well, him. If I don't-"

"Of course."

_What will you give me, Severus?_

"Brilliant! I'll be back in a minute! Or maybe five minutes ago, or two years from now-" The voice disappeared along with the grating of the stairs.

_Anything. Anything, only please keep her-them-safe._

_Secret not-so-keeper._

"Severus," Dumbledore's voice said, and a hand touched his shoulder.

_Break blood damn Sirius Black!_

Severus found his sight again and he lashed out at anything in sight. The ornamental vase, the stack of Hogsmeade forms, Dumbledore's favorite plush chair. All ripped to shreds and flung about the room. He didn't stop until every breakable object lay crushed and shattered on the floor-some from his hands, some from his wand, and some from the uncontrolled magic he felt flowing from his body-and he'd _Avada Kedavra_'d the enormous spider in the corner, narrowly missing Fawkes in the process.

"Severus," Dumbledore began again, "Please. Sit." A _reparo_ later and the plush chair once again sat amidst the destruction.

Without a single word of complaint, Severus sat down. He felt oddly drained and tired after using so much purposeful and accidental magic, drained enough that the thoughts running through his head didn't provoke a reaction. He couldn't even think properly.

"I know this comes as a big shock to you-"

Big shock. Understatement of the decade, Dumbledore.

"-but Sirius Black has, indeed, escaped from Azkaban. We have yet to figure out how." Dumbledore waved his wand and with a burst of power not unlike Severus', the room slowly came back together. "Fudge and I believe he is after Harry."

One of the mirrors on Dumbledore's penseive cabinet shattered.

Severus clenched his fists and his whole body tensed. He couldn't even keep his own magic controlled, or his emotions, or-for the first time in years, he felt the urge to weep like a small child. Stupid, stupid Sirius Black. Damned Dark Lord.

"I think it would be best if you took the rest of the day off," Dumbledore said gently. "Go back to your home and relax."

Oh, if only Dumbledore knew of Severus' favorite relaxation techniques. The infirmary would have half the year's stock of potions before Severus felt calm again. "Yes, Headmaster," Severus murmured. He felt proud of himself-his voice didn't waver one bit. His occlumency shields slowly built back up and he regained control of his magic and emotions.

A wheezing noise filled the air, and a big blue box appeared slowly in the corner. Severus stared. The _same blue box at the Malfoys'_. A moment later, the door opened and a hand shoved a note out. The box disappeared without any further ado.

"Headmaster?" Severus managed to choke out.

Dumbledore swiftly snatched up the note and scanned it. "Ahh," he said. "It's… the Doctor. He says we will see him in a week and a half."

Severus rubbed the heel of his palm into his forehead. "Who, exactly, is this Doctor?"

"The man who was in here with Fudge. Really, Severus, I thought you'd be quicker than that." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled suspiciously. "Lemon drop?"

For the first time in his career, Severus accepted the candy. So this 'doctor' looked like Barty, or was trying to impersonate him-

Oh.

Duktor.

Doctor.

Unbidden, the memory from twelve years previous popped into his mind. _"Doctor John Smith. Happy now?"_

That man wasn't Barty Crouch Jr. at all.

Severus didn't move from his bed for the next several days. Whenever he awoke, he drowned himself in another vial of Dreamless Sleep Potion. Not a single person bothered him-not even Minerva, who considered herself his maternal grandmother and made it her habit to make sure he slept and ate and washed his hair.

When he finally woke for good, a glance at the clock and his growling stomach told him he'd been asleep for three and a half days. The blinding headache and dizziness told him he'd definitely overdosed on Dreamless Sleep. But he could clear his mind, and he no longer felt blind fury at Black's escape.

He stumbled out into the Great Hall for-what meal? dinner?-only to find all the staff minus Binns and Charity Burbage sitting in the middle of the room. Dumbledore seemed to be explaining something important. Probably the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

"Ahh, Severus! So glad to see you're back from the dead!" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at Severus. The rest of the staff appeared to be somewhat surprised, with Minerva looking as if she would pounce on him at any moment and Filch sneering in a near-copy of his own expression. Everyone else just nodded and turned back to Dumbledore.

Severus grunted in response.

Dumbledore indicated the last empty chair. "Have a seat, Severus. We were just going over the staff changes for the coming school year."

_Multiple changes? DADA, of course, but-_

"-Charity Burbage is on maternity leave. She had twins and is not doing as well as we had hoped," Poppy said.

Oh. Severus rubbed his chin. He'd thought that Charity looked rather plump at the end of the previous term, but he'd never thought-

"-and Professor Binns is retiring this year," Dumbledore finished.

Everyone stared at the Headmaster as one accord. "_What?_" they all chorused, Severus included.

Dumbledore nodded sagely. "An old professor who taught many years ago is coming back for the term. Dr. Jamie Noble, if any of you remember him?" Several of the older professors nodded and exchanged amused glances with each other, but Severus' expression remained blank. "For the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, we have an early, voluntary applicant, Remus Lupin, who should be arriving within the next week."

Severus glowered. The Headmaster _knew_ what kind of animal Lupin was, the damage he'd nearly inflicted, the death he'd nearly caused, and yet the Headmaster would hire him still? He would be lucky if Potter stayed out of trouble this term.

"And our new Muggle Studies professor will be a Doctor John Smith, who should also be arriving sometime this week."

Sybil Trelawny stared, wide-eyed, at Dumbledore. "Noble? He clouds my inner eye…" She stood and wandered off somewhere, mumbling about the fine art of divination.

As Dumbledore dismissed the rest of the staff, Severus remained seated, his fingers steepled in front of his nose. Three new teachers, one of whom he had yet to meet. Unless-Doctor John Smith sounded very familiar.

Severus jumped up and swore violently, causing Minerva to turn on him in sharp rebuke and Dumbledore to raise an eyebrow in surprise. "You're letting _him_ teach?" Severus demanded of the Headmaster. "You don't even know who he is!"

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "No, but he says he's met you several times, and he also says he's already teaching at Hogwarts this term."

"What?" Minerva screeched. "_You let someone you don't even know in the school?_"

_Now_ Dumbledore looked concerned, and he couldn't be blamed. Severus smirked at Minerva's expression of fury. "I believe," he drawled, "the Headmaster means to say that he has met this Dr. Smith on one other occasion and somehow believes him suitable for teaching."

"Now, now, it's not like that," Dumbledore insisted. When Severus raised a dubious eyebrow in his direction, he sighed. "Severus, Minerva, Filius, and Pomona-meet me in my office in a moment. You know the password."

_A/N: I hope this chapter didn't move too quickly. It's a bit long for me, but I wanted all this to be from Sev's point of view. ^.^ I PROMISE we'll get to the actual school year in a few chapters!_


End file.
